


That Strange, Wild Dance

by vaughnicus



Series: Liber-Tea [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Developing Relationships, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Slash, m/c engagement party, pure fluff, though it contains very little of those characters as it turns out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaughnicus/pseuds/vaughnicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can be standalone. </p>
<p>Marius & Cosette's engagement party is a merry affair for all. E/R-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Strange, Wild Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Because every series starts with endless amounts of fluff. Also I wanted a sort of 'day in the life' fic while Enjolras & Grantaire start to settle into their relationship.
> 
> Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

 

            It was the Saturday of Marius and Cosette’s engagement party, the morning after what had been probably the best night of Grantaire’s life. Enjolras was gathering up his jacket and wallet while Grantaire watched from his sprawl on the couch.

            “It’s Saturday,” he said.

            “Yes, thank you for establishing that,” Enjolras returned, peering at him.

            “You’re going in to work.”

            “Along with half of the rest of the population.”

            Grantaire sighed. “Half the rest of the population isn’t their own boss.”

            “Your English skills are unbeatable. I have work to do.” With that, he headed for the door, only to be intercepted by a certain tenacious dark-haired artist.

            “Even you need to relax sometimes, Apollo.”

            Enjolras edged around him, rolling his eyes. “I’m not Apollo and I don’t need to relax. Not right now, anyway. I left early yesterday; I have things to catch up on.”

            “Fiine,” Grantaire groaned dramatically. “But I’m going with you, and you are taking a break later so we can go out to lunch.”

            Mentally turning over the agreement, Enjolras nodded. “All right. But we can’t leave for long, and I can’t have you interrupting me.”

            “Interrupting you? You wound me. I have a station there too, you know.”

            “Of course. Speaking of, you never showed me that mysterious project you were working on.”

            “Patience, friend. Patience.”

 

* * *

 

 

            They went straight to the loft and Grantaire made a beeline for his easel, squirreled away in the corner. He started painting almost immediately, zeroing in on the canvas with frightening intensity. Enjolras started in on his own work, frowning at the unorganized spreadsheets on his desk.

            Soon hours had passed. Enjolras was surprised to find himself becoming aware of the time before Grantaire, who now had a new canvas on his easel while the last one dried by the window, still facing away.

            He shook the last vestiges of his work trance off and stood, stretching with a grimace as his joints popped.

            “Grantaire,” he called, but the artist didn’t seem to hear him. He repeated the name, more insistently, still to no avail. Exasperated (thought perhaps fondly so), he barked, “R!”

            Grantaire’s head snapped up. It took a moment for his eyes to lose their glazed look and then he was grinning.

            “That’s how I sign my paintings.”

            “Clearly. And your notes.”

            His voice must have carried a note of ‘ _yes that’s why I said it_ ,’ for Grantaire’s cheeks reddened slightly.

            “You pay attention.”

            Enjolras shrugged, grabbing his coat. “I always have. Now come on. You’re the one who insisted we go out, so you’re the one paying.”

            “So pushy for a first date.”

 

* * *

 

 

            They ended up at a little bakery downtown, nestled in a strip between two main roads. It was the only one Enjolras knew of nearby that served organic vegan lunch.

            They stayed there much later than anticipated, listening to a mediocre alternative guitarist set up in the corner and arguing over whether Matt Damon or Jeremy Renner was more attractive until Enjolras chanced a look at his watch and swore loudly, causing a few of the older patrons to glare. He ignored them. Grantaire smiled cheekily until they turned away.

            “What’s turned you into a public hoodlum?” He needled, watching with bemusement as Enjolras gathered up their trash while trying to pull out his wallet.

            “The engagement party! It starts in forty-five minutes! We’re half an hour away and can’t go looking like this.”

            He finally gathered up their waste, leaving him no hands to reach his wallet, and Grantaire took pity on him. He stood.

            “I've got this check, remember?”

            Enjolras looked mildly pained as he deliberated for a moment, and then he nodded briskly.

            “I’ll be in the car.”

            Grantaire paid the bill and emerged from the bakery to hop into Enjolras’ inherited (from some obscure wealthy aunt or something) ’69 Chevelle. He didn’t enjoy being flashy and wouldn’t drive it if his destination was within a mile or so, but otherwise it was one of the few allowances he gave himself, claiming that it “ran efficiently” and it “would be moronic to pay for a worse care when I have a good one, even I can see that.” Reasonable statements, but everyone knew it was also because he secretly loved it.

            “It would take too much time to go to both our apartments. I have clothes you can borrow.”

            Grantaire sat back, turning to his companion with a smirk. “Sharing clothes already? But we’re moving so _quickly_ , Enjy.”

            Enjolras gave his very clear opinion on the facetiously-designated pet name (and the rest of the statement) with a single lifted finger.

 

* * *

 

 

            Grantaire wasn’t sure what all the speed limits were on the way to Enjolras’ apartment, but he _was_ pretty sure they broke almost all of them. They were at their destination seven minutes after leaving the bakery and Grantaire could have sworn it was at least ten city miles away.

            Granted, he had only been there a handful of times, mostly for Liber-Tea meetings or their more formal get-togethers. Enjolras didn’t always appreciate them getting too wild there so they’d usually go to Courfeyrac’s.

            He was on the fourth floor of the complex, one from the top. They all but ran to his door (413) and tumbled inside, Enjolras striding off to attack his closet. He had that same strong tenseness in his shoulders that he got during a debate or rally or even a fundraiser, and his steps were brisk and long and Grantaire couldn’t look away until he disappeared into his room.

            He came out what seemed like seconds later, laden with various articles of semi-formal clothing.

            “We have five minutes.”

            “What do you want me to use?”

            Enjolras dumped the clothes onto his couch and began digging through them.

            “Whatever you can find.”

            Shrugging, Grantaire picked through the thing until he found a dark green shirt that matched his Toms and an ash gray blazer. The jeans he’d worn today were nice enough – dark denim skinnies without holes or paint droplets.

            He pulled off his tee and replaced it while Enjolras stripped and practically threw on slacks and a red button up the exact same shade of red as his discarded jacket. The only reason Grantaire withheld his laughter was due to the way the material stretched tight over Enjolras’ chest and waist.

            Any words stuck in his throat and he couldn’t resist reaching out to brush a hand over the silky material.

            _Blood over marble._

            Enjolras grabbed his hand and used it to pull him to the door. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

            They arrived at Cosette’s father’s huge house exactly three minutes before the dinner party officially began. Marius greeted them warmly at the door, having apparently heard about their relationship shift and finding it terribly unsurprising. They were the last guests to arrive so he shut the door behind him and showed them to their seats at a table with Courfeyrac, Jehan, Eponine, and Combeferre.

            “Evening, boys. What’ve you been up to? It’s not like you to be almost late, Enjolras,” Courf greeted with a goofy smile.

            “Yes, well. We got… carried away. With work.”

            Eponine laughed. “Yeah. Work.”

            A ringing clink echoed from the front of the room and they all looked up to see Mr. Valjean, Cosette’s dad, standing up to speak.

            “Well, you all know why we’re here… at least I hope you do.”

            He spoke for a reasonable amount of time, warmly and with much pride. Enjolras had only ever interacted with the man on business, and then only a couple times, but he liked him. He always supported the organization and it’s causes and just seemed generally like a good guy.

            Marius and Cosette spoke together after that and then the food was served.

            Enjolras and Grantaire, having been picking at bakery food all afternoon, weren’t exactly hungry, but even they couldn’t resist the spread in front of them.

            “They might be even better than you, R,” Enjolras ribbed after taking a bite of his baked spinach and cheese ravioli. And then, to the table at large, “did you know Grantaire can cook? Quite well, I might add.”

            “Of course,” Eponine replied. “He always brings me his tomato soup when I’m sick.”

            “And on my birthday last month he baked an incredible cake,” Combeferre threw in. “You were away at that conference.”

            Enjolras dropped his fork in defeat. “Why am I always the last one to know about these things?”

            “Because you’re oblivious?” Courf offered helpfully.

            It was then that a server appeared at their table, effectively cutting off anything Enjolras had to say. He held up a dark bottle.

            “Champagne?”

            Immediately, Grantaire tensed. Enjolras started up a mental litany of vulgarities. Working on both logic and a less definable lower brain function, he took Grantaire’s hand under the table. The waiter was looking expectantly at the now-silent table. Enjolras wanted to say something, make him leave, but he wasn’t in much of a position to do so, and  taking away Grantaire’s power of choice was something he was unwilling to do.

            Finally Eponine, closest to the server, spoke up. “I’m good, thanks.”

            The waiter’s gaze shifted to Grantaire, next around the table. His grip on Enjolras’ hand tightened, and then he cleared his throat and shot  the server a beaming grin.

            “I’ll pass.”

            Immeasurably relieved, Enjolras didn’t realize it was his turn to speak until the waiter said, “and you, sir?”

            “No, thank you.”

            Their last three members all spoke at once, declining a rink and sending the server away looking quite confused.

            “Guys,” Grantaire said in a voice far from his usual volume and confidence. “You don’t-“

            “Does anyone have the Kenneth Branagh Hamlet?”

            Everyone stared for a moment at Eponine, who just blinked. “I’m taking a  film class and it’s on the list. I don’t have it.”

            Jehan perked up. “I have a copy. It’s one of my favorite films. In terms of direction it’s up there with the Prestige.”

            “Of course you have a copy,” Courfeyrac scoffed. “It’s Shakespeare.”

            “And that would be the only reason I need even if the film weren’t a work of art in and of itself! Do you know it’s the only unabridged movie adaptation in existence? Four hours of glorious rapture!”

            Eponine nearly choked on her steak. “Four hours?!”

            “Yes!” Jehan was euphoric. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

            “Sure,” Eponine started, scowling. “If-“

            “What else is on the list?” Courfeyrac cut in.        

            A sigh. “I don’t remember. Bunch of classics. Citizen Kane, The Godfather, Rocky Horror Picture Show…”

            “No way.” Grantaire sat forward. “Rocky Horror? For a class? Where do I sign up?”

            Now Enjolras spoke, running his left hand through his hair (mysteriously, his right was still caught in Grantaire’s, between them and beneath the table). “I never understood the societal obsession with that film. It always looked so… strange.”

            Grantaire was quiet for all of two seconds while he turned to Enjolras. “Wait. Are you telling me you’ve never seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

            “Well, no.” He realized that the whole table was staring at him and shifted. “Why?”

            “Oh my God. We’re going. That’s  it – group outing to the next midnight showing! It’s on the 20th.”

            Combeferre was now lower in his chair than he had been earlier. Courf spotted his position and pink cheeks and narrowed his eyes.

            “Why, Combeferre, are you unwell?”

            “No, no. I just… have never had the opportunity to view the movie, either.”

            “Two virgins!” Grantaire crowed. “Oh, this’ll be good.”

            “Virgins?” Enjolras echoed. “Grantaire, you of all people know that title does not apply to me.”

            “Nor me,” Combeferre added, sitting straight in his chair again. “Not that… it matters.”

            Grantaire laughed. “Relax, princesses, we know well you’re both sexual fiends. But you’re still Rocky virgins. It just means you’ve never been to the show before.”

            “I see. The 20th, then,” Combeferre declared, and Enjolras nodded in agreement.

            With that, the group moved on.

            Soon enough, the tables were cleared of food and half were pushed away to make room for a dance floor. Marius and Cosette were first on it, of course, both pulling a couple unfortunate friends with them. The DJ started off with a generic dance tune with a steady beat and within a few minutes there were more people on the floor then at the tables.

            “Well, come on!”

            Grantaire, unprepared for Eponine’s pounce, could only be dragged onto the dance floor with her. She spun merrily around him before shoving her hip into his and moving more provocatively to the music.

            Laughing gaily, Grantaire shook his head and moved with her, swiveling his hips and bobbing his head in a mockery of any serious form of dance. Despite his silliness, though, he was surprisingly light on his feet, moving with a clear sense of rhythm.

            Eponine grabbed his hand and they swung into something mildly in synch. They were occupied for a couple of songs, reveling in the happy atmosphere until she pulled away from him with a half-smile.

            “I think I’m making someone jealous,” she whispered, gesturing back to their table.

            Enjolras was sitting there alone, being one of the few people not on the dance floor. Courfeyrac and Jehan had run off to dance and even Combeferre had been pulled away by a tall brunette. Their fearless leader was slouched in his chair, staring determinedly at the spoon by his hand. (Because he clearly hadn’t spent the last ten minutes watching them – or rather, watching Grantaire. Not at all.).

            Grantaire nodded, huffing at the butterflies that were all of a sudden in his stomach. Eponine ticked up an eyebrow.

            “Nervous? My dear, you’ve already fucked. I don’t think dancing is going to be a problem.” She peered at him, mirth holding steady only a moment more and then fading away when he didn’t move. “Hey. I get it. But seriously, go. He looks pathetic just sitting there by himself.”

            “Pathetic is one thing Enjolras will never be,” Grantaire said, but he finally got his legs moving.

            Eponine watched him go until Bahorel pulled her into a circle of drunken jigging and she gladly joined in.    

            Enjolras looked up when Grantaire’s footsteps came close enough to be heard. He quirked a smile at him, clearing his throat.  

            “Grantaire. How goes the… dancing?”

            Cocking his head, Grantaire held out a hand. “Come see for yourself.”

            “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to steal you from Eponine.”

            Pointedly, Grantaire looked to the aforementioned girl, who was currently twirling in Bahorel’s grip. “I think she’ll be okay.” His gaze returned to Enjolras. “Come on.”

            “I’m really not a dancer.”

            “Neither am I . Clearly. Come _on._ ”

            Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ hand and pulled. The blond stumbled from the table and towards the dance floor, lagging behind Grantaire. They reached the edge just as a slow, jazzy song began to play. Pairs all around them pulled into each other, swaying or stepping together.

            “Is this Frank Sinatra? God I love this man.” Grantaire made the declaration as he tugged Enjolras closer.

            Enjolras nodded, looking surprised to find himself in Grantaire’s arms. “Yes, I’ve always admired him.”

            “Hmm, blue eyed and charming. Sounds familiar.”

            “Quite.”

            They’d both begun to loosen up and were moving more confidently, turning around other couples as they pressed closer together and stepped in near-perfect time.

            “Not  a dancer my ass. You’re a natural.”

            Enjolras huffed against Grantaire’s ear. “Well, this isn’t exactly a complicated style. But I admit to being untruthful. When I was younger my mother may have insisted on a few classes.”

            “What?” Grantaire pulled back so as to stare at his dance partner. His eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

            “Not now.”

            “Why not? When else are we going to be-“

            “I meant not this song. I know you won’t let this go.”

            Grantaire grinned. “You know me well, Apollo.” As his phrase ended, the song flipped to the next one – a quick instrumental in ¾ time. “So… show off.”

            “Well,” Enjolras said, clipped. “It’s not exactly a waltz, but it’s close enough. Do you know anything?”

            “Uh… no. But I’m a quick learner?”

            “That’ll work.” He rearranged their hands, placing Grantaire’s at his waist and his own on the other man’s shoulder, clasping their remaining two and lifting them higher. “It’s all about timing. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. Step, 2, 3. This way. Follow my lead. Step, 2, 3. Now we start turning. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.”

            With Enjolras’ voice low in his ear and the music sweeping through them, Grantaire felt light. Free. Drunk with happiness, and as that thought crossed his mind he realized just how easy this “recovery” thing might be if Enjolras stayed close.

            Their bodies were pressed close together, but rather than feeling aroused, Grantaire just felt relaxed and content. And Enjolras must have been feeling the same way, for they continued to sway together even after their friends returned to their seats.

            They were lost in the music; in each other – and they danced long into the night.

           

* * *

 

 

            From the table, their friends watched unabashedly.

            “They move so beautifully together,” Jehan sighed. “They’re so in synch. If anyone thought these two weren’t meant to be before this…”

            “Then they’re an idiot,” Eponine finished bluntly. She too was looking towards the still-waltzing couple (the DJ appeared to have taken a liking to them). “Look at them both – they’re happy. I mean, Enjolras almost looks _relaxed._ ”

            Courfeyrac laughed softly. “Yes. Perhaps we should have pushed this a long time ago – we all knew it was bound to happen, anyway.”

            At that, Jehan made a noise of dissent. “Everything in its time.” His eyes slid over to Courfeyrac. “All things that must pass will.”

            “You are an enigma, my friend.” Courf stood. “Come. I think our friends are about to be deserted.”

            Sure enough, the few couples that had been enduring alongside Enjolras and Grantaire were beginning to give up and drift back to their seats. Courfeyrac took Jehan’s hand and pulled him, blushing, onto the floor. They danced joyfully and without pattern, a stark contrast to now the only other pair alongside them.

            “It does seem as though they’ve been together longer than two days.”

            Combeferre’s voice caused Eponine to jump. She’d forgotten he was there.

            “Yes,” she agreed once over her surprise. He was smiling apologetically at her. “They’ve been oblivious for so long, I think we all just started assuming it had to be an act and they were seeing each other in secret.” She was quiet for a moment, expression becoming the slightest bit more shadowed. “I just hope they don’t mess this up. They’re both so stubborn and clueless…”

            “Yes,” Combeferre agreed, leaning his chin on his fist. “But I do believe there is a cache of love to be found between them, and that tenacity you’re so worried about causing problems could most certainly be applied to solving them as well.”

            Eponine just nodded, vaguely comforted. They returned to watching their friend in silence until Combeferre stood.

            “I’m afraid I must take my leave. Early service tomorrow.” He smiled at Eponine and waved at the dance floor then Marius and Cosette, muttering almost to himself before he stepped away, “what a wild and varied dance love is.”

            And there was nothing to be said to that.

            Wild and varied, indeed. And anything but predictable.

           

            


End file.
